About a poisoned soul
by serenidad
Summary: Crusher feels beside herself after weeks of nightmares, and reluctantly accepts Troi's care & company. As much as the conversations help, they'll soon find out that poison works its own way through a soul. Not every intoxication leaves one untouched. And when push comes to shove, justice falls short behind reality.
1. Chapter 1

Hot saliva met her thighs in large, viscous drops.

It growled, dark and vibrating. She couldn't tear her gaze from its large, pointed canine teeth.

The ferocious boar slammed its head against her bed drawer, sprang heavily on the blanket and Crusher woke, heart racing, before it could sink its teeth into her.


	2. Chapter 2

„I realize you came to me as a friend, but it's been two months now, and you keep having nightmares." Deanna leaned back against the large, curvy armchair of the sofa in her quarters. Both of them were well aware that she kept the same furniture in her office, for counseling sessions, talks with openly professional character. Whereas Deanna had chosen this equivalent as a cue to remind her of her personal perspective in all her elaborations, it tended to serve the other way round for her guest: Crusher perceived the optical coherence to express an inner one as well. Their conversation was not an entirely private one any more.

„Which means what, Counselor?" The emphasis of her role as a feeble attempt to point out a ridiculousness they no longer held.  
„Which means that you show signs of post-traumatic stress." Troi didn't catch up on the exaggerated formal address, a hint, paradoxically, that this indeed was a therapeutic conversation.

Crusher stirred her tea, caught in unaccustomed uncertainty. Deanna wouldn't discuss her leading role in the conversation any longer, nor would she reply to eye-level arguments which refused to accept her diagnosis. Another proof of her professionalism, Beverly silently admitted.

„I came to you as a friend", Crusher then confirmed, „And as my friend and acting therapist", the insinuation to Trois unwarrant professional mandate surely did not go over her head, „Perhaps a basic, well-educated support would help me."  
„What d'you think you need?"  
„Since it's the same nightmare with several weeks between occurrences... maybe an explanation would help. If I understand it's meaning, I'd accomplish some progress."  
"To one direction or another", Deanna pulled off a standard phrasing, but Crusher caught up on its bearing: The Counselor prepared her for an aggravation, as she expected recovery.  
"Analyzing and understanding dreams can't be done by textbook work", Troi explained, ignoring Crushers partial reluctance. "One can't look up the meaning of a symbol like you look up a phrasing or technical terms. Objects, even people carry an entirely personal meaning, and can be understood only individually." Yet another of these standard expressions, read: _We won't get anywhere if you're not willing to open up, at least a little._

"Then how can I recover the meaning of it all?"  
"Well, we can start at several points", Troi went on, "Structure is one aspect. If the story in your dream has the same topic, the same protagonists in it, do you wake at the same point in the story – or different ones? Does the story end at a certain point, or do you wake up from a different level of anxiety, at alternate points in the same narrative?"  
"It's the same story", Crusher answered, "But with stable level of anxiety. And the story never develops into a full attack."

"How does that appear in your dreams?"  
"I find myself in a situation where I am being threatened, mostly by an animal, a pig or a boar", Crusher laid out. "It's a beast, up and running in … agitation of some kind", she went on, hesitating to say: arousal, and Deanna's silently raised eyebrow was significant enough. _Therapeutic conversation does not always mean talking_, the physician remembered a conversation long ago. As if giving in to the ascription, Beverly pulled her legs up toward her chest, knees resting on the seating surface. She had now placed herself literally on the couch.  
The Counselor left some silence hang between them, giving Crusher time to make a mental now to later, in private, elaborate on a topic they both knew she would not speak about._ Perhaps that's the time when she pretends to make some notes_, Beverly caught herself thinking.

"Another aspect in recovering the meaning of a dream is focusing on the setting it takes place in", Troi changed the course of the conversation, "That goes for the setting you sleep in or the stage of the dream."  
"When I can't go back to sleep after waking up", Crusher told her, "I find it helpful to switch to the couch."  
A faint, subtle glimmer appeared in the eyes of her friend, as if that information already solved the mystery to Deanna. "Do you usually sleep on a flat mattress, or with high pillows?"  
"Flat, usually."  
"And does that go for sleeping on the couch?"  
"No", Crusher answered, and the change in Deannas eyes grew to a glow.  
"Have your nightmares occurred when you sleep in company?", Troi inquired, deliberately vague on whose company she had in mind.  
"I'd need to try that", Beverly admitted, and was hit by the sudden realization that she had, indeed, spent not a single night in company for quite a while. Much longer than her troubles persisted.

Troi must have felt the rise of interest and puzzlement about herself, and once again suggested a suitable procedure. "Why don't you sleep in company once within the next fortnight and we'll discuss any occurring nightmares then?"  
Beverly thought about it, distracting herself by wondering how exactly she had ended up in this therapeutic process. Finally conforming with her newly discovered role as a client, she accepted.


	3. Chapter 3

"It hurts."  
"I'm sorry, I -"  
"No, it's me, I lost track somewhere."

He rolled back, out some distance at all between them, and rested with heavy breathing on his back. He was still hot, steamingly hot, as sweat pearled from his forehead over the deep-red cheeks. Beverly retrieved her pants with a tip of her toe and quickly put them back on, as if to leave no question about whether they could continue after this interruption.

She watched him breathing for a while, then turned around, her back to him, and pretended a deaf ear when he finished what they started.  
When he came back from the shower, her Shirt was back on, too. He took a seat, legs folded, at the edge of his mattress. "I hardly recall you 'loosing track' ever, my dear."  
"Once in a while", she replied elusively.  
"When was the last time, do you even remember that?"  
"I guess after...", no need to cover the pause with him, "After our encounter with the Ullians. The telepath who restored traumatic memories for entertainment purposes", she reminded him.

His chest, bald and with surprisingly tight contours beneath the uniform, rested completely still for a moment. In a deeply empathic move, he pulled the blanket from the downside of his bed and covered Crusher up to the shoulders.  
"Would you like to tell me what's bothering you?", he invited her to a least physical exchange,  
"I'm okay, Jean-Luc." She reached out to his elbow and pulled slightly. He followed her lead and stretched himself plainly over the mattress again.  
There they stayed, arm in arm, nothing but cloth between them, until Crusher fell into a sleep with no nightmares at all.


	4. Chapter 4

"Why don't you tell me what you're _really _looking for?", Riker inquired, almost annoyed. He knew the Counselor to never conceal any viable information to him - he wouldn't accept her jeopardizing ship's safety for any reasons, not their friendship, not their common history, _nothing_ -, but then, Deanna must have reason to review a crewmembers personnel file.

The Second in Command watched her carefully while she skimmed through most recent entries in Dr. Crushers performance records.  
"Anything you wish to add to this data?", Deanna posted the crucial question.  
"No", Riker replied flatly. Her empathic perception confirmed his statement. "Do you?"  
"Do I what?"  
"Do you wish to add something to the record." He stayed with his flat, neutral tone.  
"Not so far", the Counselor answered, reluctantly, as he would not let go of what he considered the cue to a possible endangering development.

"She's CMO on the ship", he reminded her. "A leading position." Read:_ If her judgement is compromised, it will affect not only her, but entire medical staff, along with their patients, nonetheless._  
"She came to me about a personal matter", Troi revealed, putting aside the PADD. A symbolical move she had learned from Picard. "I can't say, it's not a serious issue, but she's quite able to perform her duties."  
"So it does not have to go on record."  
"No, not at all."  
"Then it won't", Riker declared, pushing her over the brink of silence.  
"She really is able to fulfill her duty", Troi emphasized, reliant on primacy effect on his perception, as the following information would distract him for sure. "But I suspect she suffered some form of harassment."

"What kind of harassment?"  
"Someone crossed her lines, aggressively and unexpected, and she progresses it as an invasion of psychologically private parts", the Counselor laid out, "Perhaps even a full-scale violation. I can't be sure."  
She could have run a shuttle across him as well. "How do you-"  
"Her nightmares", Troi deliberately chose not to use terms of the diagnosis she had laid out to Crusher, "represent loss of control to a certain amount, intrusion of privacy, and the hint of disgust. She not ambivalent about the content, and faces it perfectly calm. With considerable, suitable ambivalence, of course. So as long as her stress management is not compromised, the job's a good resource of structure and, occasionally, soporific exhaustion."  
It took him several minutes to digest this revelation.

"A violation?", he repeated, voice soft and dark.  
"Perhaps", Troi emphasized, "Not necessarily the whole way."  
"Did she hint at someone who'd done this to her?"  
"She's not even aware of the source for her nightmares. I doubt that she'll state any allegations for a while. This doesn't need to be the result of recent events, on top of that."  
"What's 'recent' in this context?", Riker asked.  
"Anything up to several months", Deanna replied, "About six months. But that's pure speculation."  
That stirred a sudden rise of attention in him. "I wonder...", Riker mused, but didn't lay out his thought.  
"What?"

"She withdrew an application for a post at Starfleet Medical, and I never quite got why", he told her, "I could not argue with the reasons she put forward – Wesley had asked about a detour several days before, but we couldn't change cours, so she said she wished to see him if opportunity presented itself."  
"Not an unwarranted plan", Troi agreed.  
"But superficial reasoning", Riker bit his lip, "I remember my surprise when she told me she had changed her mind. Their research – Ogawa accepted great responsibility in this project – was thourough, preliminary results promising, and their summary received with wide commendation."  
"I don't recall the Enterprise playing host to other distinguished medical scientists."  
"Um, they held the presentation on Moon, as part of the academic sideshow of an annual meeting of... I'd have to look it up", he admitted.  
"Do you recall when?"  
"Eight months ago", Riker answered, "We rushed into that Goridian freighter with failing life support while they were gone, and sickbay was a mess."  
"Was that the incident when you send down Worf to administer some working chain of command?", Deanna couldn't help but smile.  
"Certainly not one of my wisest decisions in command", Riker mumbled, stroking his beard.

They sailed together on a calm, benign sea of professional approaches to their duty, towing in on reflections of their performances. Yet between the waves of soft, abstract criticism, Deanna did not forget that Crusher had abandoned a post she had long been waiting for.


	5. Chapter 5

The blazing hot flames reached out, for her, but didn't touch her.

Heat burned in her nose, her mouth, her loungs.

Warm orange light caressed her arms, made its way to her shoulders, met her hair. In soft circles the flames closed a ring around her ankles and rushed up to her tighs.

Her red hair and fire no longer were seperate, but a single part, part of her body, sharp against her upper arms.

Burning hair sealed her mouth, and Crusher woke from her own scream.


	6. Chapter 6

"Any more nightmares?"  
"Occasionally, yes."  
"The same topic?"  
"Yes, through and trough."  
Troi waited, preserving some openness of their conversation. Crusher wondered if Deanna had realized that she was too ashamed to open up about their content, and how long before that realization had come to her.  
"Since you came to me as a friend in the first place", Deanna then went on, "I've known your pointed humor and sensitivity when it comes to talking about private matters."  
"If you say so", Crusher couldn't help but retrude to overconformity.  
"I do."

The Counselor exercised herself in waiting._ Probably perfect for someone who basically wants to open up_, Crusher mused silently.  
"I've tried to tell Jean-Luc about my nightmares", Crusher said, "But retelling them only upsets me. If I can't discover their meaning, even in hindsight, I'd rather spent the least time with them, and that's certainly not any time while I'm awake."  
"Sounds to me like a persistent feeling of helplessness."  
"Yes", Crusher agreed, and her arms flew to her chest, resting in crossed, almost defiant position. "It fades in good company, and on duty."  
"You said that you have them_ occasionally_", Troi let go of the trail which would overchallenge Beverly anyway, "How did you spent your time when you're not having nightmares? What's different about the situation then, what calms you?"  
"Exercise", she replied vaguely, "And company. Getting to bed either exhausted – if I had to spent a shift at my desk, I'll run 'til I'm tired-, or sleeping on the couch." Troi did not need to know about her exclusive friendship, loose romance or whatever she maintained with Picard.

Yet, due to her empathic abilities, therapeutic experience or both, the Counselor must have taken up a trail.  
"Does company trigger any changes in you?", she inquired, voice low and serious.  
"Developments?"  
"Does it head any developments?", Troi insisted.  
"For better?"  
"Or for worse."  
"Both, actually", Crusher admitted after a while. "I feel worse when I wake up from a nightmare."  
"How?"  
"It's been tension before, but now it's anxiety, but still inconceivable. Nothing focused, toward any direction, but it's encompassing."  
"If you imagine the source of your fear in a landscape", Troi intervened, spreading out the seeds for a healing process, "Where is that source in your expanse?"  
"With me", Crusher replied, a lump in her throat, or rather a stone.  
"Yes, but where?"  
"With me, Deanna, all over me", Beverly whispered, and the stone dissolved into tears.

Troi could have as well pulled the shive from a bathtub. When Crusher no longer dissolved into heavy sobs and piercing whimmers, the Counselor talked her into staying the night with Picard. Beverly, too liable to put up any resistance, agreed to it. Troi instructed her briefly on relaxing techniques. Crusher knew most of them already and had used them beforehand. Yet Deanna placed great confidence in supporting those remaining coping mechanisms. She appeared weary, worn-out to the substance of her soul, when Deanna felt sure about letting her leave for a waiting Picard.


	7. Chapter 7

"He wasn't even after me."  
They had been talking about matters Picard felt safe to bring to the table, along with a steaming hot mug of Adelle's finest good-night-milk, and even managed to pretend it was a dinner like any other. Reassured by the predictability of his behaviour, his gestures, the amount of closeness he would address to her if as long as she did not ask for more, in this harbor she had decided to open up. Close enough to touch her, distant enough for a deep conversation between friends, nothing more.

"A scientist from main program turned him down, Alyssa told me, he must have lashed out against her at coffee break", Beverly went on. He watched her carefully. She wasn't crying now. "We had been on time for the lecture, that's Alyssa and me, but the precedent scientist took his time, so we had to wait. He had chosen ot to seat himself, and standing at the bottom of the stage, I got involved in a conversation", Crusher said it as if asking for an absolution, or explanation, or both. "I agreed to meet him afterwards for a drink, Alyssa wouldn't come, I didn't know she was pregnant then already."  
"You cannot blame yourself for not anticipating of what you learned in hindsight", Picard threw in softly. "Not her reasons. Not his intentions. None of it."

"I know", Beverly replied, and a shiver shot through her body, "On a rational level, I know."  
She took her time for some deliberate, conscious breathing. "We went to a restaurant, got stranded on the bar, and were the last guests. He suggested to dance, I promised not to ask too much of him", half-coughing and half-laughing – how could she muster the strength for humor, now, if ever? -, and then the tears were back.  
"You do not have to tell me this, Beverly", he pointed reminded her in the calmest, softest voice he could muster.  
"But I want to", she growled fiercely.

It was that point in their talking when Picard, long before her or anyone else, knew she would recover – she still had her strength, her determination, her passion for all of it. That hope put him through their conversation, suffering and tormented as she was.  
"It was nice at first", Beverly went on, "He must have taken a course, or be engaged in martial arts, the way he was moving. Dancing made me feel light, relaxed, atmosphere was perfect for something more. I can't even say-", sobs interrupting, "I can't even say what happened, how it got out of control-"  
"Shh", Picard felt safe to lightly touch her hand, which pulled her from the ravaging memories back into the present. "Just as much as you can take", he whispered.  
"That's what makes it so hard", she laid out, completely back in tears now, "I wished him to be close, I invited him, and when he_ got _close, it was all wrong and he should've _stopped_."

Picard felt an icy wrist clench his stomach. "Stop where?", he heard himself ask.  
"Stop from pulling my hair, groping beneath my shirt, stop from forcing his cock between my legs, damn it!", she pulled up her hands, hid her face with them and for several minutes, words drowned in the water on her cheeks.  
"He used you", Picard tried to reach her, "He used your unawareness, your relaxation, and it's not your fault", he whispered. "It's not your fault, do you listen to me?"  
"Y-yes."

"You need a break", he decided, painfully aware that once again another man decided about her limits now, but if they kept talking like this, he'd risk her being overwhelmed by emotion.  
"O-okay."  
"You've come a long away tonight", he reassured her, uncertain of whether what he said was true. "Now let us rest."  
And rest they did. He stayed with her until the sobbing subdued, then put her on the couch, covered in blankets, and took seat in the armchair next to her. Some half an hour with her laying on the couch, the sobbing resurfaced once more. To his great surprise, she asked him to sit next to hear. Hesitating, as if uncertain whether he would hurt her, she leaned against his chest. Picard decided to wait, and it turned out to be what she needed. Tension he had not realized to be there left her body visibly when she covered her face, in trust instead of shame, when burying it on his shoulder.


	8. Chapter 8

Ravaging waves forced her through the storm. Wet down to her skin, freezing cold down to the bones, she half swam, half dived beneath the endless, grey, tumbling horizon. Driftwood missed her by hairsbreadth.

The taste of salt heralded the drain of her strength. Lightening shot into the water, inches next to her. But the ray of energy did not fade.

By clutching a shaking hand around the itchy rod, she discovered it held her weight, but pierced her skin. Blood ran from her wrist.

Where it touched the angry waves, the water thickened, pushing her upwards, and the waves started to carry her.


	9. Chapter 9

_Should I have noticed?_, Picard kept asking himself. _How come I didn't see what was bothering her?_

When Crusher had not budged in unrest for a while, he carefully piled pillows high enough as to keep her in a half-seating position, one she had said she found rest even if alone. One arm around her shoulders, one holding her head, he pulled her from his shoulders and put her down, slowly, on the substitute heap. She stirred, but did not wake up.

He tiptoed to their dinner table with her half-empty mug of now cold milk and put it back into the replicator. It vanished in a familiar glimmer, without a trace. He allowed his attention to wander, weeks, months back to... whenever this atrocity might have happened. _Ok, last time, that was obvious, I've never known her to be that passive, acquiescing, so absent in our lovemaking. But before that?_

She had been hungry and easy about it several weeks ago, and welcomed his approach a month earlier. About four months ago she had stranded in his arms after a cheery birthday party, and appeared easy and comfortable beneath his shoves. He recalled to have missed her body, her sounds, the wet and passionate tangle of body parts. Renouncing from their intimacy for-

_There's been a time when she refrained from any touch,_ _even a friendly hug,_ he remembered. _Some half a year ago, a bit more._ Then, in a strange mood, open and hesitant, she invited him to her quarters, elaborated on a rough night and accepted his hug. He had meant nothing else then. On the couch, he relaxed and became drowsy. Whether she put his hand to the pointed bone of her hips, or he had had fallen asleep, he never knew, but the touch woke something inside her. Caressing his hand, she approved and confirmed the contact, directing his fingertips to her curves. Their kiss endured throughout him opening her shirt. A calm and intense lovemaking followed, as they explored each other's body as if it had been the very first time.

He watched her in silent contempt of his own ignorance.

Interruption turned out predictable.

"Bridge to Captain Picard", Data's bodiless voice asked.

He rushed to his bedroom. "Picard here."

"Captain, your presence is requested on the bridge."

"I'm on my way."

* * *

_AN: I'll take a short detour with the plot and then sew the parts back together, so hold on :)_


	10. Chapter 10

"We've received a distress call", the Android reported, as soon as Picard had left the turbolift. Data made his way to the helm and had seated himself before the Captain was halfway through to the lower part of the bridge. "Preliminary reports show a vessel adrift, Kepler-class. Sensors read energy fluctuations to hazardous levels across the ship", he reported, fingers flowing, "At warp five, two hours, seven minutes, Captain."

"Mr Worf?", Picard called for a security check.

"The vessel lies several thousand lightyears from the Cardassian border, within safety parameters", the Klingon replied, "But the moon of Galatian IV exerts just enough gravity to change its course toward non-Federation space."

"Exceed to warp nine", the Captain ordered. "Engage."

As always, he imagined the ship to accelerate beneath his feet. Some very human need for a sensual confirmation of their expectancies.

"Commander Riker, please report to the bridge", he called his Second in Command and took his seat in the middle of the bridge. "Mr Worf, dial down external sensor readings to a minimum at our arrival."

"Captain, that close to the Cardassian border I strongly recommend-", the Klingon raised objections, but Picard cut across him.

"That close to the Cardassian border we don't want to be seen as spying on our neighbors", he explained. "Maintain shields."

Riker appeared on the bridge and assumed his familiar position to Picard's right. "Kepler-class?", he read out from the beacon between them. "We'll hardly be let into the complete picture of what Starfleet's most recent development has operated on out here", he mumbled, just loud enough so that Picard and Worf heard him.

"Arrival in twelve minutes, Captain", Data informed them.

"Which is why we'll skip any delay or exploration, as much as at pains me", the Captain laid out.

"Sensors read thirty-two biosignals", the Android threw in again. "Readings indicate severe burns and radiation poisoning among the humanoid crew."

"Transfer all relevant data to sickbay, Commander", Picard ordered. "Captain to Dr Selar." He deliberately ignored Riker's raised eyebrow regarding his choice of address.

"Selar here", the Vulcan answered after some minutes.

"Doctor, prepare for thirty-two incoming casualties", he told the acting CMO, "You'll find all info at your disposal in sickbay."

"Aye, Sir."

"Bridge out." _No need to put her under additional pressure by pointing out their time frame_, Picard decided, as Commander he relied on her carrying out his orders at once. Official regulations compelled them to line up for an emergency within ten minutes, but night shift included only the skeleton staff and setting. Additional personnel needed up to five minutes to report in, but with sufficient preparation, they'd comply with their limits.

Left one other issue at hand.

"Counselor Troi, Picard here", no formal rank this time, "Please report to my ready room."

"I'll be there", Troi's voice echoed across the bridge.

Much less due to the subject she received that request from but rather the dead time of night must signal the urgency of the matter, he mused. He was not looking forward to mixing his position as a friend and Crusher's commanding officer, not at all, but the situation left him no choice.


	11. Chapter 11

LaForge slammed his fists on the beacon.

It was madness. The Enterprise had ended up at the tail of a ship from the Kepler-class, and he wasn't even allowed to take a look at it. Readings from the bridge suggested, Picard planned to rush in, get the crew out, put the ship in tow and pull it back to Federation comfort zone.

The engineer had not trouble adjusting the deflector dish, so the ray would buffer the anticipated energy fluctuations. Their equipment took in far more than mere humanoids and was way more forgiving to radiation of all kind. But apart from the information he needed on this task, LaForge ran against thick walls of security codes, prohibiting him from analyzing even the source of the radiation.

The old-fashioned digital clock at the edge of his working place indicated two minutes until the Enterprise dropped out of warp. _Better have that deflector run properly by then_, he disciplined himself. Tests took one minute thirty and put him in an optimistic mood."

"LaForge to bridge", he said.

"Riker here." Occasionally the Captain's absence raised more questions than an answer from him.

"Deflector is up and running", the engineer announced.

"Thank you, Geordi", the First Officer replied. "Bridge out."

No task at hand for the moment, LaForge checked the puffer linked to the deflector, but his engineers had exercised great maintenance. When the clock on the screen displayed a flat 'zero', he kept a close look on ship's powering and driving systems, one never knew where a bug appeared.

Riker must have moved to action without hesitation: Judging from energy levels in transporter systems, he pulled forty people from the ship directly to sickbay, then adjusted their own shields and tied the adrift Kepler-class ship – the _Copernicus_, as he read in Data's simultaneous documentation to the ship's log – to the _Enterprise_, just as planned, and laid in a course for closest Deep Space station. External sensors were kept to a minimum, for whatever reason. Just to be sure, he took a look at them, but detected no sign for subspace distortions or other side effects of their random energy emits. Still, they had left considerable traces in their environment.

_Judging from the levels of molecular deformation,_ LaForge mused, _our sensors scan superficially. Just establishing the total amount of radiance from them might provide inadequate results. I need them subtract the additional energy._

A cross-reference with sickbay's logs proved him right: Thirty-two incoming casualties meant almost one fourth of additional radiation.

_I wonder if they glow in the dark,_ the engineer caught himself thinking, then checked on sickbay's replicator protocols. Requests disclosed the preparations for an emergency, but nothing apart from stuff for standard treatment. So they, too, have had no information on what injuries they were expecting. _Maybe I can help_, LaForge said to himself. _How do you treat severe, large burns in humanoids? What do you need for that?_

"Computer, list three main medical problems in treating burns", he addressed the bodiless voice.

"Priorities in treatment are anesthesia, maintaining stable vital signs and substitution of fluid."

"Okay, and in the long run?"

"Please define the requested time frame."

LaForge rolled his eyes behind the VISOR, a bad habit he only got away with unpunished. "Time frame be defined as first three hours in treatment."

"Priorities in the requested time frame are anesthesia, maintaining stable vital signs and replacement of damaged skin."

_Okay, I'm not deep enough in pharmaceuticals to prepare medication for them, _he acknowledged, _that goes for treatment with fluids as well, I'm afraid. _Yet since the Enterprise hardly kept enough transplantable skin on hold for instant use -the engineer couldn't help but shiver at the imagination-, they'd soon have to find a way to replace large amounts of tissue in rather short time.

_That's a topic we must have done some research on_, LaForge assumed, accessing the database. _So... what am I looking for? Accelerating regeneration processes? A device to provide the body with substitutes for skin, a protective shell, until the cells can do this job again?_

He skimmed through some reports about successful and unsuccessful transplantations, but they never showed a number of patients treated higher than four, so that was no use for their current situation. On top of that, no report considered persistent radiation effects on the tissue. In their case, LaForge needed to apply additional damage control in order to prevent the new skin from being dissolved as the original.

_Maybe we can exploit the extra amount of energy in them?, _he mused. _It would have to be a component tiny enough to enter the human body, let's say, the blood stream, to derive power for its operating systems like this..._

_\- Nanites. _The idea had sprung at him from the remotest edge of his mind. _Nanites in the blood stream, powering on radiation, providing the body with all it needed. If I added internal sensors as to what _exactly_ they're supposed to synthesize, they'd deliver an individually adapted treatment._

LaForge, delighted, rushed to the main beacon in engineering. Retrieving construction plans for nanites they had used during system repairs beforehand, his mind galloped to vague ideas of additional use. When he added medical specifications to the nanites operating procedures, his elation, however, suffered severe depletion.

The computer must have observed his search patterns. _Do you wish to access files on IAT [Individually Adapted Treatment] for larger-scale tissue substitution in humanoids?,_ it demanded in its unnerving neutral phrasing.

As much as he wanted to elaborate his own thoughts, it would have been unprofessional to ignore this question. He touched 'yes' beneath it.

His joy turned to disappointment in nanoseconds. Someone had had the idea about a year before him. He skipped the author's profile and went straight to the source material. Most of it basic material, hardly any sophisticated constructions, nothing ground-breaking. He saw almost popular authors, teachers and mentors from the Academy he well remembered.

_Wait_. A single reference, hid between famous, profoundly established names. The log entry with a stardate he knew off by heart, as well as any Senior officer on the Enterprise. _SD __44001.4._

_No wonder I haven't heard about this gimmick_, LaForge accepted his defeat, _Picard would never allow Crusher and Ogawa to test Borg technology, not even in independent research projects._


	12. Chapter 12

As a Vulcan, Selar governed her senses with ease and confidence. She did not allow them to mislead her thoughts to any distraction, neither screams nor rushing personnel or an ambitious, hopeless revival procedure next to her. Yet one aspect in the medical profession always eluded her attempts to discipline her mind: The smell of burnt skin.

It was a distinctive, penetrating odour, abhorrent for any race and evoking pictures of all forms of agony. Combined with their patients leaking fluid from their damaged cellular hulls, sickbay was filled with a constant vapour in its air. Along with the radiation heat they worked in the atmosphere of a putrid swamp, disgustingly humid, sweet and _smelling_.

Her patient watched the situation of his fellow crewmember behind her back. Judging from his face – she had just administered a sufficient amount of painkillers-, it wasn't going well.

"We had no idea what could've happened", he laid out unasked.

_Progressing a subjective perception of guilt, Selar acknowledged the very human process. Wait until he lays out what he's feeling guilty for, then tailor the absolution to give, _she recalled their basic training on psychological care.

"Plans were confined to Captains quarters, and he dealt only with our chief engineer", the middle-aged man continued. "When they put the device online, no one except them knew how to operate it." His breathing was heavy, laid thick with the side effects of the medication, but steady and deep. "You can't get something under control if you don't know what buttons to push, can you?" Maintaining stability in vital signs would be crucial concerning the next step in emergency treatment. Best way to monitor his breathing was, by up-to-date empirical knowledge, to keep him talking.

"It's a structural weakness of new developments applied on fully staffed ships", Selar made up, "You can explore it's effects only objectively if you keep the numbers of informed officers as low as possible. I'll proceed to the last step of your treatment now", she took the lead of the conversation, "I'll substitute your circulation with an increasing amount of fluid. Are you listening to me, Sir?", she demanded, as her patient stared at the now failed revival attempts on the tray behind her.

"Y-Yes."

"I need you to tell me about any trouble breathing, feelings of dizziness or blurred vision, as I'll exceed to the limits of your physical capacities", she went on.

"Okay."

The physician pulled a prepared hypospray from her belt, adjusted parameters to his height and weight and applied the appropriate dosage through the vein at his throat. Constructed of complex compounds of antimatter to hydrogen and oxygen, they would assume their form if in contact with simple matter, in this case, the fluids in his bloodstream.

"How do you feel?"

"Weak, but ok for now", her patient answered calmly. "So am I ready to undergo transplantation now?" Like most of his fellow crewmembers, he had suffered third degree burns to his legs and lower part of his back. He was hurt to a serious extend, but nothing life-threatening.

"I'm afraid that'll have to wait", Selar softly declined his demand, "We'll have to confer about restoring priorities after most urgent treatments. I suggest a transplantation from a physically closely resembling donor."

Since there are no other options in established treatment, that suggestion's hardly surprising to him, she silently reframed her answer.

"Can't I be treated with biotechnology?"

"Excuse me?"

"Biotechnology", he repeated, coughing for the first time, a sign that his circulation processed an overload of fluid. She quickly pulled the tricorder from her belt. Scanning his vital signs, her attention directed half to the readings, half to what he was saying, she inquired: "What do you have in mind?"

"There's a non-standard procedure of", coughing came in shorter intervals now, "adapted treatment for", a deep one with expectorate now, "for larger-scale tissue substitu-". The rest of his sentence drowned in rattling breath.

"Nurse!", Selar called out, grabbing his shoulder and belt and positioning her patient on the side, so he would not aspirate the phlegm, "Ten milligram of diuretic agent for this one! Sickbay to Engineering!"

"LaForge here."

"Commander, get down here, I need your assistance in treatment."

By the time the man was stable again, expressing a need to pee out the over-dosed fluid, Selar rushed into the engineer in Dr Crushers office.

Given the heading by Dr Selar, he quickly filled her in on the topic.

"So this procedure really exists." The Vulcan allowed herself to raise an eyebrow in surprise. Her upbringing did not permit her to feel ashamed for being lectured by a patient. Not right now.

"Yes, but there are no records of any application, not even simulations in appropriate cases", the engineer reminded her.

"Hesitation _is_ comprehensible", she acknowledged, "But the logical conclusion would be to apply the treatment, as there are no objections to be expected."

"As much as I'd like to put the technology to use, we'll need the Captains permission for that."

"I agree."

_After all, it is still a mechanism of Hughes regeneration processes_, none of them dared to say aloud.

"Sickbay to Captain."

"Picard here."

"Sir, I need you to come down here."

"I'm on my way. Picard out."


	13. Chapter 13

Their procedure was established quickly. Picard raised no objections, did not ask for alternatives or question the overall need for this pioneering treatment. After fifteen minutes in the CMOs office, Picard only wished to speak to the patient. Both Commanders would have welcomed it to explain Dr Crushers absence, he knew, but it was not their business, after all. Selar naturally permitted the Captain access to her patient, Ogawa lead the Captain through the still buzzing sickbay.

LaForge let himself talk into adjusting the environmental conditions in sickbay. Part of his reluctance to stay were owed to his newly awoken interest in biotechnology, but the air in sickbay pushed him to the brink of throwing up, so he gave in to Dr Selar's request.

For access to sickbay's environmental control the engineer had to use the main screen in the current treatment area. LaForge wasn't sure whether the Captain considered his presence appropriate during his visit, as the position enabled him to overhear their conversation. LaForge decided to rely on Picards confidence and tell him to leave, if he determined it necessary. The engineer tiptoed to the display and opened the relevant menus. Picard let it happen.

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard", the engineer heard the familiar introduction, "I am the commanding officer on this vessel."

"A pleasure, Captain. Commander Edward Jefferson."

LaForge risked a glance toward them, and almost got stuck at it. Disregarding his bedside manners, Picard kept more than an arm's length distance to the tray.

"Dr. Selar informs me that you requested experimental treatment."

"I have."

"I must inform you that you're on completely new ground here", Picard laid out. "We haven't any data on record about the procedure. Short and longterm effects alike."

"I am aware of that. Your physician already warned me."

"Then you are willing to take all the risks of this pioneering step?", Picard enquired. His voice was soft, friendly and serious, but LaForge felt an eerie stir somewhere near his stomach.

"Isn't that what we signed up for, Captain?", Jefferson empahsized.

"What exactly, Commander?"

"Crossing lines, Sir."

"I beg your pardon?" Perhaps the limitation of his visual perception had trained LaForge to a sophisticated usage of his senses. Yet he still couldn't pin down what made him feel attentive about the Captains behaviour.

"Exploring new ground, Sir", Jefferson elaborated, "To boldly go where no one has gone before."

"It is indeed."

The engineer suddenly realized what put him to a watchful state of mind: Picard's lack of a satisfied expression, recognizing his own motives in a stranger's face.

The absence of a smile.

"I will inform Dr Selar that I approve of your requested treatment option."

"Thank you, Captain."

Picard took his time to muster the Commander's face. His grey eyes seemed to follow every line in it, memorizing its proportions, tracking every feature.

LaForge silently succumbed to speculations. _Is he worried that our treatment might get out of hand, prove to be still independent technology? Utter a homing signal in worst case?, _he mused,_ Does he imagine his own face in times of his Borg-transformation? Must be an awkward situation, being asked to apply their technology what he was forcibly implanted with. Has he doubts about whether to put him through the procedure, risky as it is, or about him suffering like he did?_

The engineer pulled his attention back to the present and his task at hand, but made an equally silent promise to the Captain. _I'll make sure nothing's gonna happen to him_, he vowed, _he won't get out worse than he came in._


	14. Chapter 14

_"Captain's Log, Stardate 46689.7 The Enterprise is currently on route to starbase Deep Space Four at the edge of the Cardassian neutral zone. Due to its overall systems failure we have put in tow the USS Copernicus. Starfleet also has given precise orders not to investigate on the cause of the breakdown. We were able to retrieve the Copernicus' crew on arrival. Six officers turned out dead on arrival, Captain DeCandido among them, and four are in a critical state. Dr Selar has progressed to experimental treatment of the remaining twenty-eight officer's injuries, and informs me that the intervention has potential to become a state-of-the-art procedure."_

Picard mustered a considerable effort of his self-discipline not to add any premature judgement or feelings to his entry. Saving them for a later time and his personal records deemed an appropriate placement for them, Picard cut himself familiar sound of the doorbell apparently confirmed his decision.

"Come."

The doors slid apart to reveal the Counselor with an all too familiar facial expression, the one she chose to engage in noncommittal, at first open conversations. She did not speak before the doors had shut behind her, another sign of ulterior motives.

"Do you have a minute, Captain?"

"Yes, Counselor. Please take a seat." His move toward the chair was swift, his mimics friendly. Yet he dealt with an empath, so his reservations must have been clear to her as if he had been yelling.

"I hear you had another brush with the Borg."

"A brush, yes." He forced himself to smile.

"So naturally I wonder", Troi went on, a close look on him, "I wonder if there's something you want to talk about."

"I appreciate your concern", he pulled of his standard phrasing of declining her offer, "But it wasn't more than a brush. Nothing beyond an input to my senses, an expression without words." By now he knew she quickly fell for metaphors, but the image he tried to build failed its purpose. He would have to make her term serve as an anchor for his stirring of the conversations' wheel.

"There's a difference between applying maquillage or encountering a wire brush. One emphasizes your features, the other cuts your skin and leaves you bleeding", she fought for her lost cause.

_Is that a tailored approach for a heterosexual man?_, he caught himself wondering, _or a standard reference to cultural practice?_

"Counselor, I am aware that the encounter with Hugh smashed several of my assumptions about the Borg, and certainly I harbour some more and am unconscious of it", he took the wind from her hastily set sails. As much as he appreciated her support at the negotiation table, when she figured out what the unfamiliar expression from the other party's delegate meant, she could be unnerving in times he felt a wish to sort things out for himself. "But applying advanced technology from a foreign species", he mustered considerable self-discipline not to say 'hostile', "Is merely the result of conscientious analytic efforts as part of scientific process. And exploiting their technology to cure one of our officers seems a damn fine integration into my values, believes and identity."

She knew from previous encounters that he would utilize the privileges of his role to govern an intersubjective process, and rose voluntarily this time. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"I most certainly will."

"Any time."

"Thank you, Counselor." Dismissing her formally might lead her to think she touched a nerve, so he forced himself to wait patiently for her leave. He wondered if she, as a crewmember, needed a sign of reassurance, some words on him staying in touch via distinctive communication, but quickly tossed his musings overboard.

Starfleet officers at her rank respected his position. _After all, I am the Captain of this ship._


End file.
